Hogwarts' Trip to Hagglebrook
by hermione's-librarycard
Summary: A group of students from Hogwarts embark on a school History trip, resulting in chaos, fun, and bizarre – but hilarious – situations. Rated T as may contain infrequent use of minor coarse language and minor suggestive themes. No spoilers. Hogwarts era.
1. Chapter One: Floo Trunks

**Chapter One: Floo Trunks**

_Disclaimer: I do not – although, trust me, I wish I do – own the ideas or characters of Harry Potter. This fanfiction is non-profit and is written purely as a means of entertainment. I only own the individual plot-line, descriptions and dialogue of this fanfiction, along with a few minor original characters. J.K. Rowling owns the good stuff._

**I strongly recommend you read the story in 3/4 width, sans-serif (that's the A on the far right) font and with the font size increased by 2. It just looks a lot nicer, really.**

Title: Hogwarts' Trip to Hagglebrook  
Chapter #: 1  
Rating: T (Ages 13+)  
Story Summary: A group of students from Hogwarts embark on a school History trip, resulting in chaos, fun, and bizarre – but hilarious – situations.  
Warnings: May contain infrequent use of minor coarse language and minor suggestive themes.  
A/N: Thank you for clicking on my humble little fiction! I hope that you enjoy it, and if not, well, thanks for at least giving it a try. If you like it and are feeling courteous, please take a minute to leave a comment or review. It really boosts a writer's morale, and seeing visitor hits go up whilst still having zero reviews can send the story into abandonment. Anyway, I'll let you get to reading – thank you, and _enjoy!_

* * *

Buzzes of excitement charged the air, along with sole, unsavoury-smelling socks and cans of deodorant that promised instant female attraction to whichever young man sprayed it. The atmosphere was fused with animation and unrest as boys flung items of clothing, magazines, and packets of sweets across the room, each object ultimately ending up in an open trunk.

Harry Potter stood in his pyjama bottoms at the foot of his four-poster, blindly shoving a creased t-shirt over his head and pushing his arms through the sleeves. He was yanking at the hem of the polo top, trying to adjust how it sat on his body, when from the corner of his eye he noticed a muddy boot sailing through the air, its trajectory aiming straight for his head. With the nimbleness required for the star Quidditch Seeker he had proved himself to be, Harry ducked to the floor as if the clunky boot was a rogue Bludger. From behind him he heard the soft _clap_ of Dean Thomas, one of his roommates, catching the missile; and so, wary of any other objects being launched past him, he slowly raised back to an upright position, patting his unkempt dark hair.

"Sorry, Harry!" the timid voice of Neville Longbottom called from across the dormitory. A clumsy, dim boy with a lanky frame and no hand-eye co-ordination, Neville himself was not packing; he had not been chosen to embark on the trip.

_It's a no-brainer as to why_, Harry thought, before regretting the harsh notion immediately. It wasn't Neville's own fault, he supposed. The poor kid was just plain-and-simple unlucky; that was his problem.

Returning his thoughts to the open case lying on his own bed, Harry lifted a jumbled mix of garments up from the floor around the bedstead and chucked them into the trunk, not knowing – or caring, frankly – if all he'd packed were pairs of jeans without any upper apparel, or if the clothes that now filled the suitcase were even washed and in a state to be worn. Truthfully, his mind was on other things. Different fantasies. All he wanted from the short excursion he and his peers were about to go on was two things: fun, and a diversion. If he had to work a little to earn them, fine. If they came easily, then even better. But no matter how he obtained them, or whatever form they came in, Harry knew that they were the only two things most students attending the trip wanted from it. Sure, the event on the proforma they had signed up for proposed a week of history and knowledge – and the workshops stated on the itinerary for the trip did look blow-your-brains-out boring – but that letter didn't include anything about plans for the evenings ... and the evenings, as well as the teenage rituals to hopefully accompany them, had been the sole fixation of every boy in their dormitory for over a week. Even Neville had gotten involved. And he wasn't even going.

"Off for food, mate."  
A rough pat on the back interrupted Harry from his musings. It was Ron, his best friend and closest companion, also attending the trip. "You want anything?"

"No thanks, I'll be down in a minute," Harry replied with a smile that he could not repress, despite having the mountainous task of packing his whole trunk in less than ten minutes ahead of him. He caught his reflection in the mirror and grinned.  
_This week is going to be brilliant._

* * *

"I will say this once, and once only, so if I were you I would listen - Mr. Boot, I am certain that whatever fascination you have with poking Mr. Macmillan in the ribs can hold for a minute, unless you wish to stay in school for the duration of this week."

Professor Severus Snape stood at the central podium of the Great Hall, carrying a single raised-eyebrow of censure along with his trademarked expression of terminal boredom. Every head in the room swivelled round in unison to stare at a now crimson Terry Boot, who had shrunk so low with embarrassment that he almost mirrored the submissive hunch of a house elf.

"Sorry, Sir," he mumbled faintly.

"Good. Now, as I was saying," Snape resumed, casting his icy glare over the company of students standing before him, "these instructions will not be repeated and are to be followed precisely. First –" he struck out a finger, pointed to the ceiling, with such dramatic vigour that many students had to smother a smirk, "– when I have finished you will assemble into your groups, according to who is in which room, and form an orderly queue beside one of six fireplaces. Second –" his middle finger erected itself to join the first one, "– you shall each take a small handful of Floo powder _when it is your turn_ and toss it into the flames. Stand amongst them, and finally, call out the location that we have repeated for the best part of five minutes now. Clear?" He did not pause to obtain an answer. "Good. Now hurry up, we're late enough as it is."

Snape issued the last sentence of his order in a low mutter teamed with a hostile, pointed glance over at Bathsheda Babbling, the Professor of Ancient Studies and Runes that had airily given the instruction to rehearse stating the three words of the group's destination. He knew first-hand how mindless some of the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry could be – even despite the establishment's noble status – but even he grasped that they could articulate a few words. They weren't trying to teach _dogs_ to speak, after all.

With intentional sluggishness, the group of fifty-eight students staggered as if they were stuck in slow-motion towards their predetermined fireplaces. Anything to irk Snape. Some met their groups with pleasure upon eventually reaching the hearths, having found themselves assigned to a room with their friends; however others, conversely, were not pretending to walk slowly, due to their knowledge of being sorted with those that they were not too amiable with. Hermione Granger was one of the latter, and so moodily and with her eyes downcast, she frowned her way to the fourth ornate fireplace, taking up a spot behind Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati.

In all fairness, the girls weren't unkind to her – their detached state was purely down to the fact that some people don't mesh, that their daily personalities were a little too different for friendship. Still, Hermione understood that Lavender and the sisters were pleasant to handle if you did it in small portions, and tuned out the grating girlish squeals they were fond of spouting every other minute.

She stood quietly, contemplating this, when all of a sudden she felt a sharp pinch at the flesh by her hips.

"Ouch!"

Startled, she threw an angry glance in the direction of the person responsible, only to find it was Ginny Weasley. The red-headed, pretty girl was Ron's younger sister, though only by a year. This made Hermione a small degree older, but the pair's age difference in character was unnoticeable; Ginny's maturity was part of what made her Hermione's closest female friend.

Her incensed expression flicked to one of joy upon recognising her friend, and as the two girls whooped and hugged tightly, accompanying the squeeze with laughter, Hermione noticed another person standing behind Ginny, one that she had heard all about but had never properly spoken to. The girl was Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year. She had tumbling curls of blonde hair down to her hips, and bright blue eyes that were as wide as the moon, but everyone overlooked her beauty. This was mostly due to her reputation for being odd and eccentric as well as her father, who published ridiculously far-fetched stories of bizarre creatures in his magazine. Luna was paying attention to neither Ginny nor Hermione; her dreamy stare was vacant.

"Hello, Luna?" Hermione spoke tentatively, unsure of whether Luna would pay her any attention. "I'm — "

"—Hermione Granger, yes, I know who you are. Pleased to meet you, I suppose ..." Luna's interjected sentence trailed off and she resumed her subjectless gaze, leaving Hermione looking foolish with her mouth still hanging open from the mid-sentence interruption. Her forehead creased and her lips puckered into a glower as Ginny chuckled, shaking her head in bewilderment at Luna's sheer peculiarity.

"Miss Granger, you are delaying the queue. If you wish to attend the trip, then get a move on."  
The doubled humiliation of being sneered at by a disparaging Snape caused Hermione to flush further beetroot as she hastily scrambled into the fireplace.

"See you in a minute," said Ginny softly, with a reassuring smile.

"Hmph." Hermione was still pouting as she shouted her destination in order to make the magic work:

"Hagglebrook History Institute!"

* * *

_(A/N: Okay, I know that was a weak start but it gets better as it goes on, trust me. I've already got the plot mapped out and so shall start writing the next instalment right away :] __)_


	2. Chapter Two: More Trunks

**Chapter Two: More Trunks**

_Disclaimer: I do not – although, trust me, I wish I do – own the ideas or characters of Harry Potter. This fanfiction is non-profit and is written purely as a means of entertainment. I only own the individual plot-line, descriptions and dialogue of this fanfiction, along with a few minor original characters. J.K. Rowling owns the good stuff._

_**I strongly recommend you read the story in 3/4 width, sans-serif (that's the A on the far right) font and with the font size increased by 2. It just looks a lot nicer, really.**  
_

Title: Hogwarts' Trip to Hagglebrook  
Chapter #: 2  
Rating: T (Ages 13+)  
Story Summary: A group of students from Hogwarts embark on a school History trip, resulting in chaos, fun, and bizarre – but hilarious – situations.  
Warnings: May contain infrequent use of minor coarse language and minor suggestive themes.  
A/N: Thank you for carrying on with reading the fiction! I hope that you enjoy it, and if not, again - thanks for at least giving it a try. If you like it and are feeling courteous, please take a minute to leave a comment or review. It really boosts a writer's morale, and seeing visitor hits go up whilst still having zero reviews can send the story into abandonment. Anyway, I'll let you get to reading – thank you, and _enjoy!_

* * *

Under the luminosity of a glorious carmine sunset, the narrow gravel path was clear and quiet. Only the _hoot_ of night-owls could be heard, along with occasional splashes in the brook that ran parallel to lane. The path was barely used at this time of the evening; usually the only groups that would hasten along it arrived bright and early, under a teal sky punctuated with a dazzling sun – when the owls slept, covering their eyes with their feathered wings. But now, as the setting sun marked the peaceful transition from day to night, all was serene. Silent. Undisturbed.

"HAG-GLE-BROOOK! HAG-GLE-BROOOK! THIS WEEK WE'RE STUCK, THIS WEEK WE'RE STUCK IN HAG-GLE-BROOK!" A deafening football-chant exploded through the air, waking any sleeping life within a two-mile radius. The students' song – now being conducted into harmonised rounds with cascading pitches by two tall redheads – accompanied the rabble of teenagers along the lane, in conjunction with two staff dressed in robes. The first, a portly woman clothed in maroon, was weaving in and out of the chaotic herd, attempting in vain to diminish the racket. Her colleague, a curt-looking man, seemed to be smirking at her futile efforts whilst making no endeavour to help her.  
As the chant reached its fourth repeat, it stopped abruptly as the crowd halted. At the head of the troupe stood the previously conducting twins, Fred and George Weasley, the former of which had his arm outstretched, one index finger pointing into the distance ahead.

"Look! A sign!"

As if his words translated to the order of 'Stampede!', as one the hoi polloi surged forwards, almost knocking over Snape in the process and managing to knock off Professor Babbling's wiry glasses. Teaming their charge with shouts and shrieks, the students managed to cover the path's length within a matter of seconds, reaching the flawless white gate that served as the entrance to the compound in which they were to be staying for the next four nights.

"Blimey," breathed Ron, as Harry let out a low whistle, "looks like the type of place you'd find Malfoy strutting about in." Hagglebrook History Institute for the Wizarding Scholars of the World was colossal, a three-floor Georgian-style mansion. Its stone walls were bleached the pure white of a unicorn's mane, with gleaming grey stairs leading up to the great wooden door. Potted shrubs and trimmed bushes with flowers of all colours were positioned at tasteful intervals around the perimeter of the manor, resting on the chalky gravelled ground.

"What were you expecting," Hermione said to him, a condescending expression on her face, "a prison block?"  
Ron knew her well enough to understand that she wasn't acting superior; it was her way of joking. He shrugged the tease off and began to shuffle forward along with the crowd, wondering what time it was and if the kitchens at Hagglebrook served decent food.

* * *

Shifting their weight from one numb leg to the other, the drained students stood jaded in the foyer of the mansion, yawning and paying little or no attention to the stout, corpulent man addressing them.  
"My name is Professor Augustus Solennel, and you shall be referring to me by my title," he was saying in a high-pitched, nasal tone.

"Would that be 'sir' or 'madam'?" George whispered to his twin. Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were standing just behind them and overheard the jibe, chuckled along with the brothers. It wasn't an exaggeration, though, what George had said. Professor Solennel, with his blond hair that looked rather like a wig, and small, piggy eyes, was certainly not the kind of person you'd see picking up trophies in beauty contests. The students all knew that you shouldn't judge people on looks, however, but as his spiel continued, their negative assessment of the man proved to be accurate.

"In my distinguished and _highly_ esteemed career as a historian, incalculable numbers of adoring fans have prided me on many a thing – but what I am most respected for is my true _passion_ for my field of study. And that, my dear children who stand before me, aching to share a dip in the baths of my wisdom, or take a bite from the apple of my erudition –"  
Inappropriate smirks from the twins this time earned them a brisk slap on the back of their heads by Snape, although admittedly he himself wore a mocking curled lip at the priggish Professor's words.

"– that is why I open my arms to you in a hug that emanates encouragement. Now, I'm afraid that you shall have to wait a while to receive it, for we are pressed for time and you must get to your rooms. I will now pass your unfaltering attention to a Professor Stape. Alas, I shall see you all at ten o'clock sharp tomorrow morning in this vestibule, where the true joy shall begin!"

Professor 'Stape', with a glower of loathing aimed at the pompous historian, swapped places with him and set brief restrictions of where students couldn't be, had to be, and should be that evening. He finished with a sharp nod and stalked off through a door at the rear of the foyer, his black robes billowing behind him. Harry and the Weasley boys turned to face Hermione as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas slid up to their flanks, still mimicking the batty Professor Solennel.

"I guess we'll see you at breakfast then, 'Mione," a wearied Ron mumbled. The others nodded earnestly before turning to hurtle up the marble stairs to their room calling out shouts of 'Shotgun the top bunk!' and 'Dibs by the window!'. Despite the number of Gryffindors in their room, the lucky draw of who they were sharing with was spoiled slightly by the other four boys that they had been sifted with. Terry Boot and Ernie Macmillan were alright, despite Harry's suspicions that they acted differently to his face than how they would if he wasn't there, but as for the final pair ... he couldn't have selected a worse couple to share a room with himself: Draco Malfoy and his crony, Crabbe.

_If we grin and bear it, I'm sure we'll be fine. I'm not going to let those two dickheads ruin our week._

* * *

Inside the orderly room that was to be theirs for the most part of the next week, the boys were unpacking. Harry unzipped his trunk and, to his surprise, found that the Tidying Charm he had cast hurriedly after chucking the majority of his belongings in. As he began to remove neatly-folded clothes and deposit them into the small cabinet he had chosen – he was to share a bunk-bed with Ron, who had claimed rights to the top bed. Harry just hoped that he wouldn't tumble out of the bed again, as Ron was prone to doing. Cheerful conversation hopped around the room, with topics flicking to different ones every so often. Within five minutes, Harry was sorted, and so sat on the side of the bed, watching the others unload their possessions, occasionally chipping in to whatever the banter had turned to.

During a lull in chatter, Harry was scoping the room again, when something George was discreetly unpacking caught his eye. It was a plastic bag, seemingly average, however what had caused Harry to pay it attention was the distinct _clink_ of glass bottles that George could not mask, even underneath the plastic's rustling. Curious, he stood up and brushed inexistent flecks of dirt from his jeans whilst he headed over to George's bottom bunk, carrying as casual a manner as he could muster.

"Hey, George," he began nonchalantly, "you alright?"  
Even as the older boy glanced up from his trunk, Harry could recognise the sparkle of mischief that Fred and his brother both held in their eyes when they were up to something. Still, George proved himself to be equally as good as Harry at acting _blasé_ ; he shrugged his shoulders and continued to unpack.

"Fine, yeah, I guess," he equivocated, acting perfectly normal. Harry found himself wondering if he had imagined the sound of bottles, when he spotted George sneaking a bothered glimpse in the plastic bag's bearing.

"So," with his hands in his pockets, Harry gesticulated to the bag, "what've you got in there?" He kept his face undisturbed and his tone airy, uncertain of how the question would be reacted to.

"Ah – I was going to keep it a surprise, but seeing as you've asked ... did you ever know that the Three Broomsticks does take-away?"

"What?" Harry was uncertain at what George was getting at, although by the grin on his face he at least knew that he was feeling proud of himself.

"When you're as old and wise as I am, you get contacts, see. And with contacts comes a whole Aladdin's cave of opportunities. D'you really reckon me and Fred would've come on this trip if we hadn't've brought ... supplies?"

Still bewildered as to what the older teenager was implying, Harry scrunched up his face in response. George bent closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder, like a father would to a son.

"Beer, Harry. Butterbeer for the ladies, mind – although I've heard that Hermione's keen to dabble in the more hardcore stuff."  
Finally, Harry understood. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he glanced around the room, ensuring that no other boys were eavesdropping, although he could not lie to himself – the prospect of having an aid to the evening processions, and the fact that George had mentioned having girls with them, did set his eager mind whirring with possibilities. He was just about to throw himself into babbling his ideas, however, when the slam of the door being closed made him cast his attention to the visitor.

The room's cheery talk froze immediately as its occupants realised exactly who the caller was – and recalled that he was not visiting. He was there to stay.

* * *

_(A/N: Well, I hope I've chucked in enough indications of what's to come in there to keep you all excited ... sorry about the cliffhanger, though, guys – I hate them too, and I feel so lazy, but it makes for a nicer third chapter if I don't drag on about everything. On a lighter note, thanks for all those reading, and special thanks to _**padfootlover109**_ who gifted me my first ever review and added the story to their alerts. Chapter Three will be up soon - and trust me, it gets better :] )_


	3. Chapter Three: Rainclouds to Rainbows

**Chapter Three: Rainclouds to Rainbows**

_Disclaimer: I do not – although, trust me, I wish I do – own the ideas or characters of Harry Potter. This fanfiction is non-profit and is written purely as a means of entertainment. I only own the individual plot-line, descriptions and dialogue of this fanfiction, along with a few minor original characters. J.K. Rowling owns the good stuff._

_**I strongly recommend you read the story in 3/4 width, sans-serif (that's the A on the far right) font and with the font size increased by 2. It just looks a lot nicer, really.**_

Title: Hogwarts' Trip to Hagglebrook  
Chapter #: 3  
Rating: T (Ages 13+)  
Story Summary: A group of students from Hogwarts embark on a school History trip, resulting in chaos, fun, and bizarre – but hilarious – situations.  
Warnings: May contain infrequent use of minor coarse language and minor suggestive themes.  
A/N: Well, thanks for reading this far, I really appreciate it. If you like it - I'm not trying to beg - but please do take the tiny minute it takes to leave a review. It's sad to see the visitors mount and the reviews stay small:(

Anyway, I'll let you get to reading – thank you, and _enjoy!_

* * *

Hermione half-choked on her swig of orange juice.

_"Draco Malfoy?"_ she repeated, her eyes goggling with disbelief. She glanced from Harry to Ron, who both wore steely glares. Neither said anything; instead, they clenched their hands into fists of the breakfast table. Feeling a need to fill the deafening silence, Hermione continued. "I mean, I know the rooms aren't strictly built on friendship circles, but still ..."

Ron picked up from where she had trailed off, his voice thick with vexation.  
"I bet Snape arranged it. The sodding git probably thinks it's hilarious. Bloody sadist," he seethed. Harry remained quiet. Stony-faced, he recalled the stiff atmosphere in the boys' room last night. After Malfoy and Crabbe arrived, the cheeriness had drained from the air as if their sheer presence was a vacuum that hoovered all the pleasure from wherever they travelled. Like the Grinch that Stole Christmas – only five times more arrogant, and less green.

Harry was shaken from the mental image of Malfoy in a red Santa suit – with all the fluffy white trimmings – by a sharp dig in the ribcage from Ron. Seemingly he had been asked a question, judging by the expectant look on Hermione's face.

"Um ..." he began to stall, but was spared by the entrance of Fred and George. It was even clearer just how abysmal the concept of Malfoy staying with the boys was; even the near-constant sparkle of mischief had vanished from the twins' eyes.

Seeing even the twins despondent took its toll on the trio, and as Harry gloomily finished his burnt toast, he only hoped that the day would ameliorate as it progressed.

It appeared that everybody else's first night at Hagglebrook had been excellent, Harry found as he chatted to those in other rooms. Even Hermione bashfully admitted that her evening had been pleasant. By ten o'clock, Harry feared that his expression of exasperation would stay all day. His notion seemed correct as Professor Solennel entered, still as ruddy-faced and coughing as frequently as he had been during the previous meeting. Looking delighted, he clapped his hands together and held them in front of his globular belly.

"Hello? Excuse me?" he began to grasp at the students attention, and slowly the buzzing conversation died out. "Thank you. Well, first and foremost, I must say welcome to our first day – our first _adventure _– of exploring the intriguing depths of History of Magic. This morning, you will discover the secrets of the Gupplehelm War of Nymphs and Faeries through beautiful drama –" he ignored, or plainly did not notice, the ripple of stifled groans that flowed across the crowd "– and in the afternoon, will continue the creative theme by observing the Wood Nymphs' ancient vases and symbology, and may even receive the chance to sculpt wonderful pottery yourselves. I can barely wait!"

The day didn't sound _too _ bad, Harry considered. He had to confess to himself; the pottery did open a window for laughs. So, feeling like the burden of enduring Malfoy in the evening had became a little bit lighter, he ambled along with the other students through an ornately decorated corridor towards the Theatre Hall playhouse, to – how had Solennel put it? – 'explore the intriguing depths' of sitting rigidly for a few hours before he could eat some lunch.

Two hours later, as the velvet curtain fell and the lights rose, Harry realised that the only thing he had taken from the historic production was a rumbling stomach and aching backside – two things he could've achieved without having to sit through innumerable soliloquies and monologues from bizarrely-dressed actors with indistinguishable character names. Ron hadn't enjoyed it much either, based on the grumbled cuss-words he was spouting. Hermione, on the other hand, was on the complete opposite end of the scale. She caught up to the boys en route to the dining hall in which they'd eaten breakfast, and couldn't stop babbling about how Elvena and Nidhogg's tragic fate was sealed from the start, or how appreciative she was of Odiane's choice to relinquish her baby to her sister so that she could fight for her beliefs. Harry could not evoke watching any of these stories play out in the theatre, so he wisely chose to simply nod and murmur in agreement. He knew that Hermione would be able to see right through his amateur facade anyway.

During lunch – which actually tasted rather delicious, though not half as good as the Hogwarts food, or Ron's mum's cooking – the three sat with the twins, Dean, and Seamus. They suggested that Hermione bring the girls over to their room for a casual chat. During this proposal, Harry shot a questioning glance at George, who merely wrinkled his nose and subtly shook his head 'no'. The silent exchange left Harry wondering how he felt about not bringing out the 'supplies', as George had put it, that evening. It made sense, though – why use everything up on the first proper night? If they were patient enough to wait until Thursday, then at least the trip would end with a bang.

But the group did not have to delay until the last night for the full-scale party – a surprise announcement at the end of lunch to all students actually managed to improve their plans, something that the teenagers would have previously thought impossible. Just as Ron was licking his fingers and Harry was scrunching his napkin into a ball and tossing it onto the plate, the distinctive spluttering cough of Professor Solennel caught their attention. The students hushed and grimaced – bracing themselves for another dragging broadcast – but what Solennel had to say was actually quite brief:

"I'm going to pass you over to Professor Stape, who has an announcement he wishes to divulge." He then extended an arm in the direction of the snarling Snape, who strode up to him, his glare venomous. He could do without some portentous fool condescending him – he was only on the blasted trip because Binns was ineligible due to his ghostly state, and because Snape had received maximum marks in his History of Magic NEWT. So, with his lips pursed and brow creased, he swapped places with Solennel and nodded briskly.

"As if you weren't enough of a bothersome rabble already," he began quite scathingly, "the institute has offered to allow your pungent teenage bodies to gather in the Function Hall this Thursday evening ... for a _disco_ ." Snape almost shuddered when he spat the last word, as if it caused him physical pain to just imagine the students actually enjoying themselves. He nodded once more as he walked back to his seat at the staff table, accompanied by roaring cheers and whoops of joy. The students were practically leaping in the air with excitement; girls ecstatically shrieked about what they could possibly wear – even though they had all secretly packed a dress or skirt, just in case their fantasies came true – and the boys grinned from ear to ear, also thinking about what the girls could possibly wear.

The prospect of having a pottery workshop to fill their afternoon seemed trivial now: Harry thanked the person that had granted his breakfast wish, a smile plastered on his face.

(_Looking at the chapter now, it seems so short ... took me a while to write, though, what with school and stuff. I'll try to update every other day, okay? It's not a long fic anyway :] )_


End file.
